Only For A Moment
by Muffy Morrigan
Summary: Nine days after Cold Oak Dean is still suffering nightmares. Can Sam pull his brother back in time? Tag of sorts to AHBL2
1. Dean

_A/N: Grief can be a funny thing, you can think you are well over it then it arrives to smack you in the face. The oddest thing can set it off. I have been thinking about this tag for a long time. In a review (for Rainbows in the Dark) Mousitsa pointed out that Dean didn't take Sam's hand during the deathbed chat in AHBL2. I didn't realize that had been rattling around in my brain, until this popped up_. _Thank you for that it, helped this story grow! I would also like to thank everyone who takes time to read and review--you are what keep me writing!_

**Chapter One**

"Sam!"

Dean shot upright in bed. His heart was pounding, he was shaking in the aftermath of the nightmare. The same nightmare for nine nights. The same reaction for nine nights. He bolted off the bed towards the bathroom, after nine nights he knew what to expect and managed to make it to the toilet before the cheeseburger and fries he'd had several hours before came back. As soon as his stomach was empty and the dry heaves were over he rinsed his face with cold water and quietly opened the bathroom door. He glanced over at the other bed, Sam was still sleeping. At least he wasn't actually shouting out loud and waking Sam in his panic—those first two nights had been a little awkward.

He walked over to where his bag sat on a chair and pulled out a ginger ale, silently thanking, once again, the lovely nurse in Inverness, California, who had told him about the medicinal qualities of good old ginger ale. Freshens the mouth, and settles what's left of the stomach. Good stuff.

Funny Sam hadn't mentioned the supply of ginger ale. Nor had he mentioned the fact the Dean was stopping earlier and earlier for dinner—figuring the more time between food and the nightmare the better. No, Sam didn't say anything. He just sat there and shared the meal, never commenting on the fact that Dean was sticking to plain cheeseburgers and fries. No extra onions, no pickles, no nothing, just meat, cheese and bun. After the first couple of nights Dean had figured out what did the least amount of damage when it made a reappearance.

Actually, now that he thought about it, Sam wasn't talking all that much. Well, that wasn't precisely true. Sam was talking—just not about what had happened, which wasn't really like him. Dean suspected it might be in part because his brother was still a little angry about the deal he'd made for Sam's life. But there was something else, too, in Sam's silence and Dean couldn't put a finger on what it was. The weird thing was, for the first time in a very, very long time Dean wanted—no be honest with yourself—needed to talk to Sam about what had happened, about what was going on, he needed to get it out of himself—remove it so the wound could heal.

Dean was shivering, the room was absolutely freezing. They had somehow managed to get the room with the heater that had two settings, bake and off. After the room had heated up to something just shy of 500 degrees they'd opted to turn it off. They'd taken showers and dove into bed before the room got too cold.

He sat down on the edge of his bed and put his soda down on the table. Nice it was cold, always tasted better that way. He looked over at his brother, sound asleep, snoring lightly. Sam was sleeping in his typical style, sprawled out as much as he could on the motel bed—one arm sticking out from under the covers. Dean smiled affectionately. Sammy had always slept that way, and Dean usually ended up tucking one limb or another back under the covers. He got up and reached for Sam's hand. It was cold. Ice cold.

Memory slammed into him with a near physical violence. He fell back against the bed. Sam's hand was cold. Cold, like it had been…He pressed his hands against his eyes trying to stop the memory, hoping to cut it off before it overwhelmed him. Sam's hand was cold, like it had been…

_He remembered yelling his brother's name and then running for him, catching him before he collapsed on the ground. Sam limp in his arms, dying. Dean knew he was dying and was trying to convince Sam otherwise, even though he knew. He could feel the life leaving his brother as he held him. There were no speeches, no gentle good-byes, no "I Love you" nothing, just his Sammy dying in his arms. _

_He had knelt there, holding his brother's body until Bobby had come back from chasing Sam's murderer. Bobby had squatted down and told Dean they needed to go, needed to get out of there and continue the hunt. He remembered the words, he remembered asking Bobby to hold Sam up so he could stand and pick him up and take him to the car. Bobby had offered to help, Dean wouldn't let him, no one was going to take that burden from his arms. The walk back to the car was long, the longest of his life, his arms ached under his brother's weight, he wanted to stop, to collapse, to just stop there and never go on._

_When they reached the car, Bobby had opened the door to the backseat, Dean had carefully laid Sam on the seat, then gently closed the eyelids over his brother's lifeless eyes. He got a blanket out of the trunk and covered Sam, like he was sleeping, the cover pulled up to his shoulders. Dean had gotten in the passenger seat in front and reached awkwardly over the seat to hold Sam's hand. His brother's hand that was slowly losing the warmth, getting colder and colder as they drove back to their room._

_Bobby stopped the car and Dean was out before he had turned the key off. He didn't want Bobby to help carry Sam into the room. Only Dean. So he had picked up his brother's body, cold now, and starting to stiffen, and carried him into the room, laying him gently on the bed. He heard Bobby come in, heard him suggest that they burn Sam or bury Sam, he heard him, but the words didn't really make sense. Dean's whole world was filled with pain and the vision of his brother lying so still on the bed. He tried to take one of Sam's hands, it was cold. Ice cold. He dropped it as if it had burned him. That cold hand was reality, the warmth of life was gone from his brother._

_He hadn't touched Sam again. He had started talking. He knew Bobby thought he was losing his mind, and he was right, Dean was just on the edge of madness. In the madness he had convinced himself that Sam was just asleep and as long as he didn't touch the cold body, the delusion could continue. He had poured his heart out to Sam, the way he never had in life, he had driven Bobby away and eventually the madness would propel him to his car and down to the crossroads._

Dean was rocking, pressing his hands harder against his eyes, trying to stop the memories before they drove him back to that place of madness. Sam's hand had been cold, maybe the last nine days, maybe the deal, maybe it was all part of the madness and Sammy was still gone, cold, lifeless. Dead. No, no, it can't be. The madness had found him again.

Weight settled on the bed, probably Bobby, here to tell him it was time to bury his brother. "Go away," he said, still rocking, shaking in the cold room. "I don't want to hear it, go away, Bobby."

"You must be cold," a blanket was gently wrapped around his shoulders, and arm resting on the blanket. "Dean?" The voice gentle, concerned, it sounded so much like Sammy.

"Go away, Bobby, leave me here. Just leave me."

"Dean?" The voice sounded so much like Sam, it broke his heart. "Dean?"

"Please, leave me alone."

"No, I won't, I can't, not like this. Dean, please." The arm tightened on his shoulder, pressing the blanket around him. "Dean!"

"Take the blanket away. You should put it over Sam, he's so cold, never warm again. I put it on him, he just got colder, I couldn't stop it. I couldn't stop it." He was lost in the madness, rocking, trying to pull away from that warm arm. "I couldn't stop it, I couldn't save him, I promised. I promised. He's so cold."

"Dean," the voice implored. "Dean, please."

"Go away, just leave me here. I don't want to leave him here."

The weight shifted from the bed, good Bobby had heard him, was finally leaving him here. Hands grabbed his arms, shaking him. "Dean!"

He ignored the voice that sounded like his brother, ignored the harsh shaking. "Go away, let me alone."

The shaking stopped, a hand connected with his face in a hard slap, hard enough to bruise, hard enough to hurt even through his hands still pressed against his eyes. The shaking started again, "Dean, please, please, man." Another slap, even harder. He looked up, and into Sam's eyes, his brother's face was wet with tears, panicked, stricken. "Dean?"

"Sammy?" He had lost his mind, hadn't he? "Sammy?"

"Yeah, Dean."

"Sammy?" He drew a ragged breath. Sam was still kneeling in front of him, his hands still on his arms. "You're alive."

"What?" Comprehension on Sam's face, the tears coming a little harder. "Oh, god, Dean." Sam sat back on the bed and pulled Dean against him. His arm wrapped tightly around his shoulder, Dean could feel the warmth through the blanket.

"You're warm. You were so cold, Sammy. I couldn't make you warm. I couldn't stop the cold."

"It's ok, Dean. It's ok." His brother was repeating, keeping his arm tight around Dean, holding him as close as he could, as close as Dean would allow. He was still trying to pull away a little, still not quite sure what was reality, not sure where the madness had led him.

"You're warm, you're warm," he held on to that. It seemed like the most important thing, "You're warm" He took a breath, looked into his brother's eyes, trying to make him understand.. "I'm sorry Sammy, I had to make the deal, you were so cold. You were gone, I couldn't let you be cold. I couldn't bury you. I couldn't let you…" The tears were starting. Not like before, not like when Sam was…was dead. Not forced out, a reaction against a numbness and pain that was overwhelming—trickling out of his eyes in a never-ending stream. No these tears were flowing, unstopped. He leaned into Sam. His brother put his other arm around Dean and held him, held him as it all came out. His grief, his fear, all of it, pouring out at once, letting him go, letting him free of it at last. He could hear Sam saying, "It's ok," over and over as he held him.

The tears slowly ebbed. He was exhausted. He just leaned against his brother, leaned into the warmth. He was trying to pull himself together, it wasn't working. He pulled away and looked at Sam. His brother's face was wet, the look in his eyes compassionate, gentle. "I'm sorry about the meltdown, Sammy." Trying to make it normal, knowing it wasn't.

"Don't apologize Dean. I knew something was wrong, I should have done something before this happened."

"What?" He'd thought he'd hidden it.

"Dude, you talk in your sleep, you've woken up the last nine nights screaming my name. You haven't kept one dinner down, you don't sleep once you wake up from the nightmare. You think I haven't known?" Sam looked at him, "I just didn't know what to say, what to do."

"Sam," he took a deep breath. "I thought it would pass, just go away one night."

"It didn't," Sam said, concern in his voice. "I should have pressed."

"I thought it was over, you know, except for the dreams. Sometimes it all seemed like a dream, like it never happened. Like you had never…never…" the tears were forming in his eyes again. "Like you had never died." He said it. It was the first time he'd said it to Sam. "It only happened in my dreams, every night, never ending."

"Dean…"

"No, Sam. I tried to convince myself it hadn't happened. It made it worse, the dreams were getting worse, you dying in my arms again and again. Getting cold," he closed his eyes, Sam pulled Dean to him again.

"Dean, you can't pretend it didn't happen anymore than I can pretend you didn't make the deal that brought me back." He laughed a little bitterly, "I do try, sometimes, to pretend the deal was never made, but it was Dean. We have to move on from here."

"Yeah."

"You had to let all that out, Dean. "

"I know, I just didn't want you to have to be around for it." He pulled away from Sam and moved to lean against the headboard. Part of him wanted to return to the big brother, the one who took the pain away, the one who kept everything under control. The one who hadn't just had the meltdown of the century.

"I'm glad I was, I'm glad I could be here." There were a lot of layers to that statement. Sam smiled at him and scooted back to sit beside him. He seemed to sense the other part of Dean still needed to feel that warmth, that assurance his brother was alive and with him. Dean leaned against him, Sam put his arm around his shoulders.

"Yeah, Sammy, me too."


	2. Sam

**Chapter Two **

"Sam!"

The sound of his brother's shout, panicked, grief stricken, pulled Sam abruptly from his sleep. He held still, not daring to look over at Dean, he knew what was coming and a second later Dean leaped off the bed and into the bathroom. Sam could hear his brother retching. This had been going on every night for nine long nights. The first two nights Sam had reacted to that shout, now he let it go—let Dean think he wasn't shouting out loud, that Sam stayed quietly asleep while his brother was tortured by nightmares. Sam knew he was going to have to deal with this soon, Dean couldn't keep it up much longer, Sam just wasn't sure how he would handle it.

He had asked Dean that first night when they were back at Bobby's what had happened after he had died. It felt weird saying it "after I died." Dean had looked at him with haunted eyes before masking the emotion with a quick "Nothing, Sammy." But Sam had seen the look, had seen what was there and he knew Dean wasn't ready to talk about it. The nightmare had started that night, the vomiting, Dean staying awake for the rest of the night. He was burning out, not letting himself sleep after the dream, Sam was worried.

Sam tried to open the conversation once or twice, gently, nothing really overt. He knew Dean would eventually talk to him, he just hoped he didn't wait too long. Letting the pain build up to the point he had allowed when their father had died. It tore Sam up to see his brother like this, so calm and cocky—his usual self—during the day, tortured all night. Dean wasn't even enjoying his food as much, Sam had watched as Dean had slowly eliminated favorite foods from his dinner. Burgers without onions, pickles or anything else, fries without ketchup or tartar sauce, milkshakes or beer replaced with water. He knew why Dean was doing it, he also was pretty sure Dean thought he was getting away with it unnoticed.

Sam had started to do little things to hopefully allow his brother to cope. He had started pretending to oversleep, so Dean had to shake him awake, had to make physical contact. Sam let him have the first shower, purposefully chose Dean's favorite tapes for the stereo. And he had taken to sticking an arm or leg out from under the covers at night so Dean could tuck it back in and smooth the covers over Sam. He thought it might be a balm to the nightmare that pulled his brother from his sleep every night.

Sam slid his arm out from under the covers—just in time, he heard the toilet flush and the bathroom door open. It was a little problematic tonight, the room was freezing. After they had checked in they turned the heat on, then discovered the heater had only on and off as options. They heated the room up long enough to take showers then shut it off. His arm was getting pretty cold. Dean had better hurry up and tuck him in.

He heard Dean moving around—getting the ginger ale out of his bag, yet another thing Sam ignored and Dean thought he was getting away with. Dean came over and sat on his bed, Sam knew Dean was watching him, a few moments later he stood and Sam waited for him to tuck his arm back under the covers. Dean gently grabbed his hand—and dropped it. He heard Dean's sharp intake of breath, heard the springs squeak as his brother sat down, hard, on the other bed.

Dean's breath was ragged. Sam lifted his head and looked over, Dean was sitting on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands, he was rocking back and forth like a child lost in tears. Sam sat up, "Dean?" he said quietly. Dean didn't react, just stayed with his head pressed into his hands, rocking, shivering in the cold room. Sam grabbed a blanket and sat down on the bed next to his brother.

"Go away," Dean said, his voice filled with an unending grief. "I don't want to hear it, go away, Bobby."

"You must be cold," he said, gently wrapping the blanket around his brother. He put his arm over Dean's shoulders. "Dean?"

"Go away, Bobby, leave me here. Just leave me." Sam wondered why Dean kept calling him Bobby, kept asking him to leave. Still with his head in hands.

"Dean?" Sam was worried, wondering if he had let it go too long, let it build up to a point that he couldn't recover Dean from. "Dean?"

"Please, leave me alone." Dean said in that tortured voice.

"No, I won't, I can't, not like this. Dean, please." He tightened his arm on Dean's shoulder, pressing the blanket around him. Trying to reach him through that contact. "Dean!"

Dean was trying to pull away from him, trying to break contact. It took all of Sam's strength to hold him there, he was not about to let go. What came next broke his heart. "Take the blanket away. You should put it over Sam, he's so cold, never warm again. I put it on him, he just got colder, I couldn't stop it…I couldn't stop it, I couldn't save him, I promised. I promised. He's so cold."

Sam desperately held on to Dean. Tears had filled Sam's eyes and were running down his face. He had to get through to him, this could only lead to madness. "Dean, please." He shook him gently.

"Go away, just leave me here. I don't want to leave him here."

Sam knew he had to do something, he was losing Dean. He got off the bed and knelt in front of him, grabbing his brother's arms he shook him—hard. "Dean!"

"Go away, let me alone." Dean said through the shaking, through his hands, still pressed to his face.

Blind panic filled Sam, Dean was slipping away. He had to get through to him. He raised his hand and slapped Dean. He shook him again. "Dean, please, please, man," he said. Come on, come back. Dean still didn't react. Sam drew a breath and hit him again, hit him hard. His brother finally looked up. "Dean?" He said, hearing the desperation in his own voice.

"Sammy? Sammy?" Dean whispered.

Sam nodded, he kept his hands on Dean's arms, "Yeah, Dean."

"Sammy…" He drew a ragged breath. "You're alive?"

"What?" Sam looked at him, at a depth of grief he hadn't even guessed could exist and let someone live. "Oh, god, Dean." The tears were falling again. He sat back on the bed and pulled Dean against him. Trying to convey in that touch everything he couldn't say. Let me help him, somehow let me help.

"You're warm, You were so cold, Sammy. I couldn't make you warm. I couldn't stop the cold." Dean said, still lost wherever his grief was taking him.

"It's ok, Dean. It's ok." He kept his arm on Dean, even though Dean was trying to pull away again. He was going to hold on until he was sure Dean wouldn't drown in this, until he was sure Dean was at least on his way back.

The physical contact must have reached him in that dark place. "You're warm," Dean said. He repeated it over and over, like it was an incantation against death. Dean looked up at him, "I'm sorry Sammy, I had to make the deal, you were so cold. You were gone, I couldn't let you be cold. I couldn't bury you, I couldn't let you…" Dean had started to cry. It was terrible to hear. Sam put his other arm around Dean, his brother leaned into him. Sam had never heard him cry like this, in all the years, in all that had happened. He knew Dean needed this, as terrifying as that emotion was, so he held him and said "it's ok" over and over, hoping his voice would reach Dean.

The tears slowly stopped. Dean just leaned against him, silent. After a few minutes he pulled away and looked at Sam, his eyes not quite focused. Sam saw Dean trying to reassert his usual self, it wasn't working. "Sorry about the meltdown, Sammy."

"Don't apologize Dean. I knew something was wrong. I should have done something before this happened."

"What?' Sam saw disbelief in his brother's eyes. Dean had been sure he was getting away with it. Time to quash that.

"Dude, you talk in your sleep, you've woken up the last nine nights screaming my name. You haven't kept one dinner down, you don't sleep once you wake up from the nightmare. You think I haven't known?" Sam looked at him, hoping Dean would understand. "I just didn't know what to say, what to do."

"Sam, I thought it would pass, just go away one night."

"It didn't," Sam said, guilty. "I should have pressed."

Dean sighed and looked at him a little sheepishly, a little embarrassed where the conversation was heading. Sam held his breath, not wanting to stop now that Dean had started. "I thought it was over, you know, except for the dreams. Sometimes it all seemed like a dream, like it never happened. Like you had never…never…" Dean stopped, swallowing, his eyes were filling with tears, "like you had never died. It only happened in my dreams, every night, never ending."

Sam didn't know what to say, "Dean…"

"No, Sam. I tried to convince myself it hadn't happened. It made it worse, the dreams were getting worse." Dean looked at him, the grief open on his face, "You dying in my arms, again and again. Getting cold." He broke off and closed his eyes, Sam reached out and pulled his brother back against him.

"Dean you can't pretend it didn't happen, anymore than I can pretend you didn't make the deal that brought me back." He laughed a little bitterly. "I do try, sometimes, to pretend the deal was never made, but it was Dean." He looked at his brother, and suddenly the bitterness, the anger over Dean's choice drained out of him. He understood. "We have to move on from here," he said gently.

"Yeah," Dean looked away, Sam could sense his embarrassment.

"You had to let all that out, Dean."

"I know, I just didn't want you to have to be around for it." Dean sat up and moved to the head of the bed, leaning against the wall. Sam could see Dean trying to recover himself, the "no chick-flicks" look in his eyes, but not quite. Sam didn't believe it just yet.

"I'm glad I was," he said. "I'm glad I could be here." You needed me big brother. You let me help you through this, you've given your life for me. He slid up beside Dean, still pretty sure Dean wasn't all the way recovered. His brother leaned against him, Sam put his arm around him.

"Yeah, Sammy, me too." There were many layers in that statement. Sam heard them. He sat there with Dean until his brother's breathing evened out into sleep.


End file.
